


The Great Reward

by ignipes



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-06
Updated: 2007-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a bad place to spend eternity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Great Reward

"I'm bored."

Sam groaned. "Dude. Are you completely incapable of sitting still for five minutes?"

"No." Dean twitched and shifted in his chair. "Maybe. It's not my fault there's nothing fun to do here."

"That's because your ideas of fun are very wicked," Sam said primly.

Dean considered for a moment before nodding reluctantly in agreement. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I dig the digs. Nice view. And the neighbors aren't bad."

Sam decided not to remind Dean that he had grumbled for seven days straight after he discovered that the nubile young French women in the cabana next door were medieval nuns rather than hookers with hearts of gold. (The discovery that their neighbors on the other side were members of a benign and benevolent bisexual open marriage cult had appeased his disgruntlement somewhat.) But Sam couldn't argue with the rest of it. The view was of a sweeping golden beach alongside a clear blue ocean -- Sam could never decide if it was azure or cerulean, but it was certainly very blue -- and a gentle breeze whispered through healthy palm trees all around them. Their beach chairs were padded and always reclined just the right degree, the brilliant sun never burned their skin, and the jellyfish that occasionally washed up on shore tickled rather than stung. They hadn't worn shoes or shirts since they arrived, and the kitchen was always full of their favorite foods.

And if occasionally a weird winged dude with white robes and a golden harp showed up on their doorstep distributing pamphlets, it didn't happen often enough to annoy them, and sometimes they even invited him in for a beer.

It wasn't a bad place to spend eternity.

On most days.

"It's just... I'm _bored_, Sammy."

Sam groaned again. "Go steal Cecilia's Black Sabbath collection."

Dean had been dismayed upon arrival to discover that disapproving parents everywhere had been right about a lot his favorite music and it was therefore banned from Heaven, but his spirits had lifted considerably (so to speak) when he learned that, rather like Cuban cigars, even forbidden things could be found if you knew where to look. Which was, in this case, the library of the patron saint of music, whose was a little hard of hearing and had locks that were easy to pick.

"That's not fun anymore," Dean grumbled.

"Challenge Uriel to another flaming swordfight?"

Dean considered it for a second, but he shook his head. "Dude fights like a fucking pansy and sulks like a fifteen-year-old girl stood up at prom night when he loses."

A small part of Sam still waited for dark clouds to roll across the sky and lightning to strike them down every time Dean cursed. (He was under no delusions that he would be spared just because it was Dean's mouth that needed washed out with soap; their names hadn't even been listed on separate lines on Peter's scrolls -- although, Sam recalled with smug pride, his had been listed first.) But the moment passed and they remained unzapped, and he searched idly for more ideas for Dean's entertainment.

"Watch _The Little Mermaid_ again?"

"Nah."

"Go over and beg Mom to make us pie?"

"Can't. They're vacationing in Avalon until Thursday, remember?"

"Oh, right. Go down to bar for a game of poker with the old guy?"

"No way. He cheats."

"He doesn't cheat," Sam explained patiently. They had this discussion every day. "He just knows everything. I think that's his job."

"Whatever." Dean sighed. "I still say it's cheating."

"Then how do you win sometimes?"

"Sometimes I cheat better."

Sam decided not to argue and tried again, "You could spike the punch at the Divorced Ladies' and Gay Men's Gardening and Knitting Club luncheon again?"

Dean looked at Sam.

Sam looked at Dean.

"No."

"No."

"I can't believe you suggested that."

"I can't believe I suggested that."

"Don't you remember--"

"--what happened last time?" Sam shuddered. Peals of laughter and the tinkle of broken glass echoed in his memory. "Yes. Vividly."

"Though I gotta say--"

"No, you don't."

"--man, you look--"

"Dean. Shut up."

"--really fucking _hot_ in--"

"I'll kill you."

"--nothing but a fig leaf." Dean paused before adding, in the voice of one speaking to a very slow child, "And we're already dead, Sam. You can't kill me."

"Well, fine." Sam closed his eyes and pretended that Dean's triumphant cackle wasn't the best thing he'd ever heard. "Be that way. That's all the ideas I got. You're on your own." He hung his feet off the sides of his chair and dug his toes into the sand, felt around casually for his beer and decided it wasn't worth the effort of reaching when he couldn't find it right away.

"You're no fun," Dean grumbled, but there was no real disappointment in his voice. There never was, not here.

So Sam dozed in the sun while Dean muttered half-assed plans and stupid ideas to himself. The ocean lapped at the shore and birds twittered peaceful in the trees, and Sam let his mind wander. It wasn't what he expected, this sun-filled afterlife, not even close. He'd always been pretty damn sure that after he finally bit it he would end up in something a little more fire and brimstone, a little more eternal punishment. (A little less Club Med, to be honest.) Pain and torment, screams and wails, demons and foul beasts -- that's what Sam thought he'd find when he opened his eyes at the end of that long tunnel.

But instead he'd woken in a clean, soft feather bed, warm from sunlight shining through open windows, with Dean leaning over him asking if he was up for a round of beach volleyball with the hot French chicks next door.

Sam didn't bother wondering about mysterious ways anymore. Some mysteries were just too, well, mysterious.

He was just drifting into a blissful afternoon nap -- he would never get enough of afternoon naps, for all of eternity, no matter how much Dean mocked him for it -- when he heard Dean's chair creak and felt a warm hand brush across his bare chest.

"Hey."

Sam cracked one eye open. Dean had turned onto his side, and he was grinning deviously and reaching across the space between them. There were laugh lines around his eyes and freckles across his nose, bits of sand speckling his skin and his hair looked like he'd just rolled out of bed.

Sam couldn't help but smile back at him. "Hey."

"I have an idea," Dean said. His thumb was tracing small circles around Sam's navel, whisper-soft and teasing. "We could go inside and try to ruin the sheets."

Sam's smile grew. "Never gonna happen."

"We can _try_," Dean insisted. He had made it a sort of personal goal of his, a challenge, once they figured out that the thunderclouds wouldn't roll in and lightning wouldn't strike if they shared a bed. ("Mysterious ways," Sam had said by way of explanation, and Dean had replied, "Always knew the old guy was a frickin' pervert.") But just like the fridge was always full and the beer was always cold, the sheets on their bed were always, always spotlessly clean. It was a little creepy. But nice.

"Go in and try by yourself," Sam said. (The thing about what happened to kittens wasn't true, either, as it turned out.) "I'm napping."

"Aww, c'mon, Sammy, let's..."

Dean's voice drifted off, and after a few seconds Sam heard why. Girlish laughter and voices filled the air, and when Sam turned his head and looked he saw their neighbors heading toward the water. They always wore simple linen shifts to swim, but Sam and Dean had agreed -- many times, in many ways, after discovering that the kittens were safe -- that those were somehow way hotter than bikinis.

The girls laughed and waved and called out, "_Bonjour!_" as they splashed and frolicked in the surf, and the boys quickly forgot what they had been talking about.

Then Dean sat upright abruptly and slapped Sam's stomach.

"Ow. What?"

"I have an idea."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Let's sneak out."

"What?"

"You sound like a broken record. C'mon, let's sneak out."

Sam couldn't deny it was an appealing thought, but he said, "We'll get caught."

"We never get caught," Dean replied, affronted. "Well, not by anybody who cares. Let's go walk the mortal paths. Find some assholes who deal drugs to kids and beat them up."

"Make them see the error of their ways," Sam corrected. Even sneaking out there were rules to follow, and he didn't want to get in trouble.

"Whatever. It'll be fun, and we'll work up an appetite for dinner."

"Since when have you ever needed to work up an appetite?" But Sam knew it was just a token protest. Dean was nearly bouncing in his chair with excitement, all traces of his former boredom gone.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean said imploringly.

Sam sighed. "Fine."

Dean jumped up. "Get your street clothes on, man. I'll race you to the Pearly Gates."

Sam followed more slowly, waving to the girls next door and kicking his feet through the hot sand. He didn't mind letting Dean win.


End file.
